Clair de Lune
by Nirnaeth Arnoediad
Summary: When Draco finds a secret room in a forgotten tower, he can’t help but fall in love with the artist that hides their work there. Oneshot. SLASH!


**Title:   Clair de Lune**

**Author: ME !!!... SlytherinEvenstar**

**Warning: slash and fluff (I guess)**

**Note:   I started this before OotP. And the notes at the bottom might be somewhat helpful. I've only just started my French foreign language classes this year—so for all the French speaking people out there that notice my mistakes—I'm sorry.**

**Summary: When Draco finds a secret room in a forgotten tower, he can't help but fall in love with the artist that hides their work there. Oneshot.**

**Clair de Lune**

It was two weeks into my seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry when I found the secret room filled with the artwork and musical instrument of a single, _very talented_ person. (Trust me. I know now that this person is.)

            Of course, I wasn't supposed to know about the room or the artwork in it, hence the _secret part of the _secret_ room. And then again, I had not ever even seen the artist/musician so I didn't even know if it was just one person using that room for their painting, sketches, and musical performances. But I am Draco Malfoy so I can't be wrong… Or I could just say that I based my belief of it being a solitary person's room because of the solitary feel to the entire place, that and the doors of course. But the doors will be explained later. The room felt as if this was the person's only refuge from the evils of the world, even after Voldemort was defeated._

            I can't truthfully remember what made me take a wrong turn on the way to the Great Hall for an early breakfast that September morning. Maybe I was just extremely tired or maybe it was fate but I had suddenly found myself on a lengthy moving staircase that put me at the base of an unfamiliar tower; a small little tower that I was positive that I had not seen before. (This was saying something as I was a seventh year and not some pathetic first year, although _I_ was never pathetic in my first days like certain people. Weasley, of which, is a prime example.)

            At the entrance of the tower were mahogany double doors about seven feet tall with faux gold handles and gilding on the sides. The doors looked majestic (if it is possible for doors to even be majestic) and extravagant but purely non-magical. They didn't glow or give off a sense of magic at all. However, as soon as I touched one of the handles in order to open the door, words appeared in what looked to be like old English style (you know, like in the olden days when texts were handwritten and had illuminations) across the mahogany wood:

_This tower be warded, trespassers beware_

_For a fragile soul be guarded here_

_Only enter if you should chose to pay the fare_

_If your soul loves nothing is here for you to fear._

            The poem intrigued me but at that moment I paid it no extra mind. At that point in time I'm afraid that I have to admit that I acted like any other new first-year at Hogwarts, reaching out to the handle and opening the door into Alice's Wonderland. (Of course, I wouldn't know of Alice or her Wonderland until much later in life.)

            I must confess that I reacted in a very unMalfoyish manner once I entered the room, my jaw feeling as if it had detached itself in the manner of a nutcracker doll. The room was painted in a soothing light blue paint that matched the sky that was shown from the large bay windows on the side of the tower to his right. I looked up at the ceiling as saw that just as in the Great Hall the ceiling reflective the sky outside of the tower. The floors were made of fine varnished wood and had thick darker blue rugs on them. But none of this was what had completely shocked me. Nor was it the giant four-poster what shocked me or the study table and bookcase filled with many books that was in a separate room through an open doorway. 

            The room was filled with paintings. I did not mean three or four large paintings. There were paintings hanging up on the walls, others were resting against the divan in the small living room area; there must have been at least thirty paintings of various sizes in the room. Two paintings, obviously still works in progress, were on two easels facing the windows. All the paintings in the room were different from each other. On some of the canvases there were images of the Hogwarts grounds bathed in moonlight. Others were showing various gardens, people, among other things. There was only one thing that I could tell that all the paintings had in common; they all had a single black and silver phoenix located somewhere within the artwork. Sometimes the phoenix would be the focus of the art and other times it would be integrated into the background but more often that not it was placed in a corner as a sort of signature mark.

However, although the paintings, art supplies, and sketch pads were everywhere there was only one more thing in the room that absolutely demanded my attention. In a rather large alcove away from the main center of the room were two ceiling high windows with a mirror in between them that went around in the shape of a semi-circle was a mahogany Steinway grand piano with sunlight reflecting off the wood and a metronome next to it on a matching mahogany table.

Although almost no one knew it, I had taken piano lessons from the age of eight because of my parents' belief that it showed others that I was of a higher class. But after the death of both my parents during the war that followed my fourth year and escalated after my fifth, I had had to stop taking lessons as my instructor was placed in Azkaban for also being a Death Eater. I missed playing during school but I had believed that there was no piano at Hogwarts. 

As quickly as possible I went over to the piano and looked at the books placed in a small beside it; they were all self-instruction books on the piano. Located on the stand was a piece of music, Claude Debussy's Clair de Lune. I was shocked. Maybe you have never played the piano or have never seen the sheet music for that piece but by all standards that is a far advanced piece of music that someone who was still reading books on how to teach himself (I was sure that it was a he) to play the piano. I noticed that the music had little notes written on the first two pages of the songs: telling things such as tempo markings and fingerings.

It appeared to me that this person was very dedicated to his work to be able to play through a piece of this level. But then again I always believed that it was your dedication that made you meet your goals not just your talent… And H—this person didn't lack talent or dedication at all as I was going to realize later.

*

Now let's skip over a couple months as nothing really extremely important happened at all during these weeks but I guess that I should just give you a basic overview of the happenings at Hogwarts.

It was during these months following that I began working earnestly for my potions mastery apprenticeship. In order to be accepted to become an apprenticeship to become a potions master I had to spend practically all of my hard-earned free time studying about things such as the Draught of the Living Death and Veritaserum. I was very lucky to have Severus at Hogwarts. Now, don't laugh! Having a potions master on the grounds of the school helped immensely because I could just go to him for assistance. If I trained hard enough I would be able to be apprenticed by him at Hogwarts after graduation. (Which I am proud to say did happen.)

Every morning at six in the morning (I am not a 'morning person' exactly; I just get up early during the school year and late on holidays.) I would go to the tower and look at the paintings and see the progress of the work. My favorite painting of them all was slightly disturbing in a way. At least I know that it would be to some people. 

There was a beautiful white rose painted on the center of the large canvas and it was surrounded by such pigments of colors that it looked as if it was painted in the midst of beautiful stained glass. That seems to be just a beautiful innocent scene, doesn't it? But then add the fact that the painting has black smears of paint going across diagonally from the top left corner of the painting to the bottom right corner. If you look closely enough you can see that the black smears actually form a bird with outspread wings. Since it is missing everywhere else in the painting, I assumed at the time (correctly, of course, as Malfoys are never incorrect) that the bird was in fact a black phoenix.

Does seem symbolic, doesn't it? The innocent person represented by the white rose becomes tainted by the dark realities of life and changes into the black phoenix—an essentially good creature but with a jaded view of life. 

In November, I also lost yet another game of quidditch to Harry Potter and the Gryffindors however I could clearly see that Potter himself was not into the game as enthusiastically as before when we were younger. Maybe it had to deal with the fact that he had become a killer by the age of sixteen. Even though Voldemort did deserve it. 

Nothing else of great importance occurred unless you consider the fact that Neville Longbottom did make a perfect potion in Severus's class—while Hermione Granger was on the opposite side of the room—an occurrence of great importance. Of course, it was after that potions lesson that I heard Sev (I am allowed to call him that because he is my godfather after all.) proclaim that there is a God and angels and that they hadn't forsaken him.

It was three weeks before Christmas and I was staying at Hogwarts for the break. I didn't wish to go home to an empty Malfoy Manor (beautiful and elegant as it may be) and since Severus was also staying at Hogwarts I decided to also. As I was saying, it was three weeks until Christmas when I first heard music actually being performed from inside the room. 

I had been going to the Great Hall from my study time in one of the other school towers. Again for some reason unknown to me I found myself on the wrong staircase leading to the tower. It was then that I heard the music being played. The sound shocked me. I was expecting something soothing and quiet such as Clair de Lune or the Moonlight Sonata (am I the only one who noticed they are both about moonlight?) by Beethoven that I had seen at the piano for the past two months. Or the God Rest Ye Gentlemen and O Holy Night in the Christmas book I had seen. Instead I heard Rhapsodie (Yes, it is spelled with an ie and not a y) by Maxwell Eckstein. 

That piece is not the most famous and well-known of among all the different songs of Mozart, Beethoven, Debussy, Clementi, and others. It is a relatively easy song to play. However in the beginning it starts off very loud with a forte marking (which means to play loud, all you non-musicians). The louder and more emotionally you play Rhapsodie in the beginning the angrier it seems before it finally calms down. You wouldn't expect this song to be played during Christmas time. At least, _I_ didn't.

I went to grab the door handles before I even realized my actions. As soon as I touched the gold handle another poem appeared on the door. The strange thing was that it was actually different this time than from all the others.

_We warned of the coming price in your entering through our doors_

_The fare you shall pay is indeed great _

_You must give your heart to the descendent of the one from the moors*****_

_It has always been your predestined fate._

I hesitantly opened the doors after reading that poem. I must admit that at the time I had not fully comprehended the complete meaning behind the two warnings on the doors. But then I opened the one of the double doors and stepped silently into the room. Imagine my surprise when I saw that it was Harry Potter that had been playing the piano. Of course, it was then that I saw him stiffen and stop hitting the notes on the keys. I, being the Slytherin-and-not-the-impulsive-Gryffindor type, quickly retreated out of the room and closed the door before he had turned around.

I had been shocked, of course. I had believed myself to be falling in love with the artist locked up in that tower. But I couldn't love _Potter! This was the person that had humiliated me on the quidditch field not even a full month earlier __without even trying! It was then that I remembered the two poems on the doors. Of course, at the time I immediately brushed it off. I mean really, doors telling of your fate? Really! That's ludicrous even for the wizarding world._

It was then that I started paying more attention to Potter and what he did. It was rather depressing actually. No, I am not just talking about my obsession with him at the time but of his demeanor. Harry used to be so energetic and exuberant (one of the reasons I couldn't stand him) but now he just seemed to just be there. Maybe it had to do something with the fact that many of his friends died (although Granger and Weasley somehow survived). Or it could have been the fact that he absolutely abhorred all the fan mail and marriage proposals that he received in the mail (although the professors did do their best to prevent them from entering the school). It was then, however, when I realized what the real problem was for Harry Potter. I realized what could have made him want to hide himself up in a tower.

Loneliness. 

            Have you ever heard that expression that went somewhat along these sorts "loneliness in the midst of many"? Everyone was so happy together they automatically assumed the savior was also. Of course, _I_ had to be the one to notice that he wasn't which meant that _I_ had to do something or feel utterly guilty. And I hate feeling guilty. It just doesn't suit Malfoys.

            He was lonely. And so I took it upon myself to change that.

            The next time I went to the room in the morning I saw the new poem on the wooden doors again. I had never really considered the belief of fate. I always believed that it was our choices and actions that brought upon our destinies. And here was a _door contradicting me. Well, anyways, the next time I went to the tower I left a small note on the piano next to sheet music of Clair de Lune._

            _Bonjour, Harry. Comment vas-tu? _**(Hello, Harry. How are you? [informal])**

_            The next day when I went back I saw the note waiting for me but this time there was writing next to my previous comment._

            _Bonjour. __Ça__ va comme ci, comme ça. Et toi? Comment t'appelles-tu? **(Hello. I am so-so. And you? What's your name?)**_

            Okay, I must admit I, Draco Malfoy, was shocked. Who knew that Potter knew French? (Don't you lie to me and tell me you did!) Or at least that little of it. I had left my note in French impulsively. I knew that he had to have recognized the bonjour part but I didn't think he'd understand the rest. I had to reply to his letter saying that I couldn't tell him my name. I mean really! He's Harry Potter and I'm Draco Malfoy! We never would have gotten along at that time very well. But then Harry wrote the note that would eventually change that belief.

            _Tu__ connais moi très bien?_**(You know me very well?)**

_            Oui, très bien et beaucoup. Tu es intelligent, gentil, et beau.** (Yes, very well and very much. You are intelligent, kind, and ****handsome****.)**_

_            From that comment and reply on Harry and I became much more open together through our notes although I never revealed my name and he never revealed anything to personal. I knew that he had trust problems after the war. You could never know who was a spy or not. That note did make me realize that yes; I thought he was each of those things I said he was. Intelligent, kind, and handsome. _

            It was a Hogsmeade weekend and I was having the HARDEST imaginable time trying to find a present for Harry. The amount of students staying at Hogwarts that year were not too many and not too few so I had no major fear of Harry figuring out that it was me that had been in his correspondence. However, Weasley and Granger had gone somewhere for their vacation at this time so I had seen Harry walking through Hogsmeade by himself too.

            I had just stopped in front a shop looking for prospective gifts when I heard his voice behind me. "Hello, Malfoy." I felt a shiver going up and down my spine as warm breath tickled the back of my neck before I turned around and saw Harry Potter looking at me with his haunted emerald green gaze.

            "Potter," I managed to say. I must admit that was a rather good test of my infamous Malfoy unemotional tone. I highly doubted that Harry would have been able to guess that at that moment my heart was steadily beating faster at the first time we had actually talked outside of class face-to-face. 

            "So what are you doing here?" he asked, casually.

            "Shopping for a last minute present, Potter. I would have thought it was obvious."

            He smiled at that comment. "I see that you are still as sarcastic as ever, Malfoy. I just thought I'd ask, however. I'm looking for one too. A last minute present, I mean. Or at least part of it. Well, see you around." With that he walked away. 

            I walked into the store and found the perfect present for him. It was necklace of a phoenix made of jet and silver with emeralds for eyes. Coincidence, wouldn't you think? What were the chances of that necklace being in that store that day just after I had talked to Harry?

*          

            When I walked in early to the tower room on Christmas I was surprised again at the sight that greeted me. There in the center of the room was a large Christmas tree with beautiful lights and ornaments decorating it and underneath was large wrapped gift and for some reason I just knew it was for me. The only light in the room came from the lights of the tree and from a small light from the separate alcove with the Steinway.

            Right as I was stepping away from the tree after placing the present down beneath its branches I heard the first chords of Clair de Lune come from the alcove with the piano. I quickly moved to step away and out of the room, however, his voice stopped me.

            While the music flowing from his fingers kept playing I heard his voice, quiet and calm. "Don't leave me, Draco, please." His voice was a plea.

            I was frozen on my spot. I knew that it was impossible to see me from Harry's vantage point at the piano. I slowly walked over to where the music was being played. Harry was there not even looking at me, but instead looking back and forth between his fingers and the piano keys and the music on the piano stand. "Don't leave." He pleaded again.

            "How did you know it was me?" I asked after a few minutes.

            "They told me. They told me after the first time you entered these rooms." He answered back, his fingers flying over the piano keys.

            "Who's they?" I asked. At the time as I really confused. I didn't think that Harry would have told anyone about writing notes to an unknown person in a hidden tower where he would paint and play his heart away.

            "The spirits, of course. Who do you think left the poem on the doors for you? I assume that a poem did appear on the doors for you as they did for me." Harry said as Clair de Lune began its slow descent. "It took me awhile to realize who the spirits were, of course. One of them is my ancestor though."

            "Who?" I asked, amazed. Although ghosts are quite common in the magical world the seeing of spirits is a rare thing indeed. They rarely leave the afterlife to come back to our plane of existence, even for a short time.

            "The four founders of Hogwarts," Harry replied. "They always guard Hogwarts. My ancestor is Godric Gryffindor—"

            "Of the moors," I had finished, finally understanding the meaning of person the poem spoke of one the doors.

            I sat down next to Harry just as he finished playing the song and he turned to face me. "You won't leave me like the others, will you?"

            That one question will forever be seen to me as the volta* of my life. I don't know what made me do it. It might have been the realization that Harry Potter was in fact not as strong as people would like to believe all the time, myself included. But I believe that it was the awareness that yes, although he was Harry Potter, I was in love with him. So I just reached up and cupped his face with my hand and stroked his cheek with my thumb as tears filled his eyes.

            And, oh, if only you could have seen him in that moment. So beautiful as his emerald jeweled eyes glistened like diamonds. His breath hitching in his chest as though he couldn't believe the emotion that must have been shining in my eyes. "_Je_ t'aime beaucoup*, _Harry_._" He smiled then and that smile was like the sun rising in the east after the coldest winter day shining on the snow covering an idyllic landscape while two lovers in each others embrace watched the beginning of the new day. A perfect sight. _

            And just as my lips were about to touch his he whispered those words back to me and we kissed with love on our lips*. Our tongues battled for dominance as our hands craved for more contact conveying our passion and as Harry's hand gently held my face I thought of the first stanza of a poem I had once read

_Your lips speak soft sweetness  
Your touch a cool caress  
I am lost in your magic  
My heart beats within your chest*._

            As the kiss drew to a halt, Harry leaned his forehead against mine. I could feel the lightning bolt scar rough compared to the rest of his skin. "Do you believe in God, Draco?" Harry asked.

            "I tend not to."

            "Why?" he asked.

            "There are such things as magic, ghosts, potions, and spirits that contradict the teachings of the muggle God and Christ."

            "I know," he answered. "But it is nice to believe that there is a God and heaven out there that watches over you and accepts you even with all your faults." He shrugged. "I guess it, in the end, is just a matter of faith." He smiled again at me. "You never answered me."

            It took me awhile to understand what question he was talking about. "I never plan on leaving you, Harry."

            Again that smile covered his entire face. "Do you want your present now?" He stood up without me even answering and gripped my hand tightly with his own and led me out to grab his present and mine from under the tree before climbing onto the four-poster and lying on his stomach while I just sat by him on the blue coverlet. "Come on, open yours first."

            It was beautiful. 

            There in the painting he had given me was almost exactly the same scene I had imagined when I saw Harry smile except that this was at Hogwarts by the lake and the two lovers were me and Harry. I told him how much I loved it through a kiss.

            "I got the frame during that last Hogsmeade visit."

            "And I got this," I said, as I tossed him the necklace.

            I would assume that he liked it by the way he tackled me to the bed and smothered me with kisses.

*

After graduation that year, Harry came to live with me at the Malfoy Manor bringing to the large house a homely feeling of springtime. I was apprenticed to Severus in order to earn my potions mastery and so every day I had to go to Hogwarts to spend at least five hours learning of the complex potions. But Harry always came with me for my training sessions with a sketchpad and some pencils. He had not needed formal training for his career as an artist. His paintings are hung at three different art galleries in Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, and muggle London and being that they are quite popular (although not famous) many copies were and still are being sold.            

It was when we were twenty on Christmas Eve that we decided to have on Bonding Ceremony (or what you may call wedding). And when Severus finally retired from teaching 'incompetent foolhardy students' and open an owl order for his potions I became the potions master at Hogwarts. During the school year, Harry always stays with me in the castle (and is known to help out with the defense against the dark arts classes more often than not) and we have changed the tower room into our suite during the school year. The doors now remain blank from poems although time to time they will leave some comments behind.

            Now, even as I am writing this, six years after that Christmas morning in our seventh year, I can hear Harry beginning to play Clair de Lune in that same alcove holding the same Steinway piano.

            And I know that our love shall always shine as beautifully as the light of the moon.

**Fin**

· **In the Goblet of Fire the Sorting Hat says that Godric Gryffindor was from the moor.**

· **I just put this here to say that a volta is a poetry term for the line or word that changes the subject or (umm… can't think of the word) idea(?) of the poem**

· **French for either I love or like you very much. In this context it means I love you very much.**

· **I couldn't help myself.  I'm too much of a romantic. In case you didn't understand what I meant by that: Harry said I love you (or just the word love) just as their lips met.**

· **"Never Have I Fallen" by uh… I don't actually know. It seems to be just floating around the internet and I've seen it claimed by at least twelve different people.**

_Your lips speak soft sweetness  
Your touch a cool caress  
I am lost in your magic  
My heart beats within your chest  
  
I think of you each morning  
And dream of you each night  
I think of your arms being around me  
And cannot express my delight  
  
Never have I fallen  
But I am quickly on my way  
You hold a heart in your hands  
That has never before been given away_

· **      Clair de Lune means light of the moon or moonlight in French**


End file.
